by Paige Tyler
“We got you, kid,” Jack said, eyes misty with tears.
Or at least that’s what Brooks thought he said. His ears didn’t seem to be working very well. It didn’t seem like his eyes were working right, either. Everything was dull and muted around him.
Brooks smiled anyway. Jack was the only person in the department who ever called him kid. Hell, there weren’t many who’d even use his first name. They’d always been too intimidated by his size to be that casual with him. That had never been a problem for Jack, though.
Jack leaned in close, encouraging Brooks to keep fighting. Brooks had no intention of giving up, but it probably wouldn’t matter. He had a gash in his side big enough to park a bus in. No amount of fight was going to change that.
While the paramedics worked to save his life, he turned his head to look at the man he’d killed. As he watched, the bizarre blue glow that had been in the guy’s eyes throughout the fight slowly faded away. Stranger, the fangs—for lack of a better word—were also fading, retracting until they looked like normal teeth. Brooks frowned, shocked that no one else seemed to notice the monster in their midst. But everyone was focused on trying to save his life.
As everything around Brooks began to get fuzzy and the pain disappeared, he knew their efforts weren’t going to matter. He hoped that none of them blamed themselves. He’d died doing his job and protecting people. A man couldn’t ask for more than that.
Chapter 1
Dallas, Texas, Present Day
“We’re moving into position now.”
Brooks motioned the four members of his SWAT team toward the back of the back of the warehouse on the east side. At his signal, fellow werewolves Diego Martinez, Connor Malone, Trey Duncan, and Remy Boudreaux quickly ran across the sunlit street and soundlessly disappeared into the shadows of the building on the other side.
“Roger that,” Sergeant Ray Porter said over the radio in Brooks’s ear. “Just watch yourselves back there. I haven’t heard anything from my CIs, and it’s starting to worry me.”
“Understood,” Brooks said as he followed his teammates.
Ray Porter was one of the most experienced officers in the Dallas PD Gang Unit and was damn good at his job. Which was why he was running the joint gang, narcotics, and SWAT task force the brass had put together to deal with the recent increase in gang-related heroin showing up in the city. But while Ray was a good cop, he was an even better person, and those confidential informants in there were kids he’d worked with for years. It was obvious he was worried as hell about them. That was something Brooks understood and respected.
Even though his nose and ears told him there wasn’t anyone behind the warehouse to see them, Brooks wasn’t thrilled with the idea of hitting the place in broad daylight. There were too many things that could go wrong. But if the intel they’d gotten from narcotics was right, there could be as much as two hundred pounds of high-grade heroin in that building, along with some high-level gangbangers from several of the biggest gangs in the city, all coming together to figure out how to move the drugs. Multi-gang operations like this were unheard of in Dallas, but Ray’s CIs had said a new boss with money and muscle had moved in and was actively consolidating most of the east side gangs. Nobody knew who this guy was or if he could pull something like this off, but if he did, it meant crime in the city was about to get a lot worse than it already was.
So while the operation was risky, it would be worth it if they could keep the heroin off the streets. Taking down the gangs and their new boss would just be gravy on the biscuits.
Normally, their squad leader, Mike Taylor, would have taken lead for an operation like this, but he was helping the newest member of their SWAT team with in-processing. A werewolf SWAT cop from Chattanooga, Rachel Bennett, had shown up on their doorstep a week ago saying she’d heard about people hunting werewolves in Dallas and that she wanted to help. To say they’d all been thrown for a loop was an understatement. Usually, their commander, Gage Dixon, went out and brought new werewolves into the Pack after carefully vetting them to make sure they’d be a good fit. This was the first time a werewolf had joined the Pack on their own. It was kind of weird.
Brooks didn’t mind running the operation in Mike’s absence, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about this raid being risky, especially considering they had no idea how many gangbangers were in there or how well armed they were. That was the kind of info he’d hoped Ray’s CIs could give them, since both of them were active members in the gangs involved, but the older cop hadn’t heard from either kid in two days. Which was why Ray was worried. If someone figured out those kids were working with the cops, they were dead.
“Civilians along the front of the warehouse,” Ray said in Brooks’s ear. “Entry on hold. All personnel, maintain your positions until my order.”
Brooks bit back a growl as he joined the rest of his team behind a Dumpster surrounded by piles of wood pallets and cardboard boxes. Another sniff told him the back side of the warehouse was still clear, but they were pressing their luck hanging around like this.
The original plan had been for Ray’s gang unit, along with officers from narcotics and K9, to converge on the front of the warehouse while Brooks and his SWAT team went in through the back. The idea was to execute the raid before anyone saw them coming. The longer they waited, the greater the chance of something screwing that up.
Beside Brooks, Connor’s eyes flashed gold, a sure sign his inner wolf was trying to get free. On the other side of him, Diego, Trey, and Remy started to get a little fired up, too. Even though Brooks had complete control of his animal side, at times like this, he had to admit he felt the urge to let the wolf out.
He blamed it on the hunters. It had been more than three weeks since the run-in with those assholes when they’d almost lost one of their pack, Zane Kendrick. Since then, the Pack had been on full alert waiting for the next attack, and they were all feeling the strain.
Brooks resisted the urge to extend his claws and fangs and focused on getting his team back under control.
“Take it down a notch, guys,” he growled at his packmates. “Between hunters trying to kill us, somebody in the DPD trying to sell us out, and a city full of werewolves depending on us for protection, we’re already dealing with enough shit. The last thing we need is some gangbanger’s video clip of one of us in midshift going viral on the internet.”
His teammates immediately got it together at the mention of that. Even Connor, the least experienced werewolf among the five of them, reined himself in. Brooks hated reminding them about all the negative crap going on lately, but one little mistake on any of their parts, and a lot of people were going to pay the price. They’d handled the hunters this last time, but now that there was someone inside the Dallas PD working with the assholes, this fight was only going to get worse before it got better.
“We’re cool,” Remy murmured in his N’Awlins accent.
“Good,” Brooks said. “Then let’s move.”
They were out from behind the Dumpster and moving toward their positions without another word, M4 carbines locked and loaded. Diego, Trey, and Remy peeled off and headed for the loading ramp entry at the far end of the warehouse while Brooks and Connor moved toward the big double doors on the opposite end of the building. As he kept an eye out for anyone coming around the back of the warehouse, Brooks heard Ray issuing updates over the radio, letting everyone know there were still civilians loitering around the front.
“I get the feeling you and Porter have worked together before,” Connor remarked as they slipped behind a row of A/C units and crouched down.
Brooks nodded. “I worked in the gang unit with Ray when I first started at the DPD before joining SWAT.”
Connor did a double take, his hazel eyes filled with surprise. “No shit. I assumed Gage brought you straight onto the team since you had prior police experience.”
Brooks shook his head, remembering the day Gage Dixon, the Dallas SWAT commander,
had shown up at the sheriff’s department in Gulfport and told him he was a werewolf. A lot of things had changed for him—fast. But getting onto the Dallas SWAT team hadn’t been one of them.
“Nah. HR was still making it hard for him to bring new people straight in, so I started in the gang unit while Gage worked the system to get me into SWAT.”
Connor frowned. “That must have been rough. Being away from the Pack when you were still a new werewolf, I mean.”
“I still hung with the Pack on my off time, which helped me wrap my head around the whole werewolf thing.”
Good thing, too. If Gage hadn’t found him when he had, Brooks probably would have thought he was having a mental breakdown. Or turning into a monster.
“We’re in position,” Trey whispered over their internal SWAT frequency on the radio.
Brooks glanced over his shoulder to see Diego, Trey, and Remy crouched below the concrete loading dock. They were doing a damn good job of making themselves as small as possible. Which was a hell of a trick for three guys who weighed over 250 pounds each.
He radioed Ray to tell him they were ready, reminding him that their asses were hanging in the breeze. Ray instructed him to sit tight for another minute, saying there were two civilians still in the way. Brooks cursed silently. While he didn’t like the idea of being back here with minimal cover, clearing the area of people could alert the gangbangers inside to their presence. Then things would get ugly real fast.
Brooks frowned as he suddenly picked up a scent he couldn’t place. He turned to ask Connor if he smelled it too, and was shocked to see a sleek black cat rubbing up against his teammate, looking happy as hell to find him there.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
Connor looked at him like he was an idiot. “It’s a cat.”
Brooks wasn’t sure he agreed with that. Unlike dogs, cats hated werewolves. Besides, that slinky thing weaving back and forth through Connor’s legs had the weirdest scent he’d ever picked up from a cat. Like she’d spent an entire weekend trapped inside a Bath and Body Works at the mall.
“Okay, better question then. What the hell is she doing here? We’re about to kick in the door in a minute. Now isn’t the best time to make a new friend.”
Connor ran his hand over the cat’s fur. The animal immediately leaned into his touch and purred. “Hey, it’s not like I’m doing anything to attract her attention.”
In his ear, Ray announced the coast was clear and that he was getting his team ready to move. Brooks gave Connor a pointed look. “Well, get her to go away before the situation gets tense.”
He could just imagine the cat trying to follow Connor inside the warehouse and into the middle of a firefight.
Connor gently nudged the cat farther down the alley with his hand, but the graceful feline turned back around and rubbed up against the leg of his cargo pants. He gave Brooks a sheepish look. “I don’t think she wants to leave.”
Brooks lifted a brow. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound werewolf with claws, fangs, and a bite that’s even worse than your bark, and you’re telling me you can’t figure out how to get the cat to leave. Seriously?”
Connor looked at him blankly for a moment before realization dawned on his face. Turning to the cat, he growled low and menacing, his eyes flashing gold as he bared his fangs.
Brooks expected the animal to jump ten feet in the air, then go running like she’d seen a ghost. Or a werewolf. But instead, she regarded Connor with an expression that clearly indicated she hadn’t been impressed. Then she turned and casually walked away, her head and tail held high. A few moments later, she disappeared around the corner of the building.
Connor glanced at Brooks. “I think that cat just rolled her eyes at me. I can’t figure out if I should be offended or not.”
Brooks chuckled. “I’m not sure offended is the word I’d use. Maybe embarrassed might be better. Or ashamed. Mortified even. But if saying you’re offended that a cat punked you works for you, have at it.”
Connor muttered something under his breath about not being a cat person, but Brooks ignored it. It was time to focus on the job they were here to do. Over the radio, Ray announced they were entering the building in two minutes.
The words were barely out of his mouth when shouts came from inside the warehouse, immediately followed by shooting. A lot of it, too. Rapid-fire pistol mixed with automatic weapons fire.
Shit.
“Ray, we’re going in,” Brooks said into his mic.
“Hold until I give the word!” Ray shouted. “There are only five of you. I don’t want you going in there on your own.”
Brooks cursed. His gut was telling him to kick in the damn door, regardless of what Ray said, but he forced himself to obey the order, knowing he’d give the same command in the other cop’s shoes. That didn’t keep him from growling in frustration as the shooting continued. People were dying in there.
In his ear, Ray shouted orders on the radio, moving his people up to the front door. José Rodriguez from narcotics yelled back, saying they were in position.
“Okay, Brooks,” Ray said. “Go!”
About damn time.
“SWAT going in,” Brooks announced.
Lifting his leg, he kicked in the back door, slamming it against the wall. Down near the loading dock, Trey did the same.
Dozens of scents hit Brooks as he and Connor worked their way down the hallway that led to the main part of the warehouse. Blood and sweat mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder amid the maze of pallets and boxes, but none of it masked the pervasive smell of an opioid drug. Fentanyl probably.
Brooks was wondering why the scent of drugs was so strong, since the stuff was usually sealed in plastic bags, when a dark-haired guy in a T-shirt and jeans darted out in front of them. The gangbanger immediately lifted the submachine gun he held and pointed it in their direction.
“Drop the weapon!” Brooks ordered, aiming his M4 at the guy even as Connor did the same.
For a moment, Brooks thought the gangbanger might comply, but a split second later, bullets sprayed around them. Brooks dropped to the floor and rolled right while Connor rolled left. They came up on their knees together, both of them returning fire.
A part of Brooks winced as the gangbanger—who was barely out of his teens—dropped to the floor, his weapon spinning across the concrete. But Brooks quickly forced the thought aside as he and Connor moved quickly toward the front of the building where the other members of the task force were. Brooks sensed Trey and the other two members of his pack off to the left, heading in the same direction.
Gunshots and automatic weapons fire continued to echo in the building, but it had slowed drastically. In its place, he heard cops shouting at people to drop their weapons and get on the floor. It sounded like some of the gangbangers complied, both most didn’t. He and Connor crossed paths with three more bad guys on the way. Two put their guns down and their hands up, but the third guy refused, instead putting three rounds from his submachine gun into the wall inches from Connor’s head while he was cuffing the others.
A bullet to the head would kill a werewolf just as dead as a normal person, and Brooks quickly took the guy out before he could get another shot off.
As they got closer to the middle of the warehouse, the scent of drugs got so strong, it made Brooks’s nose sting. That was when it hit him.
“Ray, call back the K9 teams!” he shouted into his mic. “This whole place is filled with loose fentanyl.”
But even as he said the words, Brooks heard the sound of dogs running and out of control barking. Shit. If the K9s stepped in any of those drugs, they were going to be in trouble. Fentanyl—synthetic heroin—could soak through skin on contact. That included the pads on a dog’s feet…or nose.
Brooks and Connor sprinted toward the source of the odor. They got there just as Ray, several cops from the gang unit, and a K9 team ran up.
Brooks skidded to a stop. While he
was still concerned about the drugs and where the hell they were, he couldn’t ignore the five dead men slumped in their seats along one side of a rectangular table. From the empty chairs on the other side and bullet casings littering the table, it seemed like the gangbangers had been ambushed by whoever had been sitting across from them.
He cursed as Ray moved over to take a closer look at the men. He recognized every one of them from the photos Ray had pinned to the briefing board back at headquarters. Two of them were Ray’s confidential informants. The other three were leaders in the east side gangs who’d been invited to the warehouse to discuss working together with the new boss to distribute drugs. Instead, it looked like he’d wiped out the competition.
Ray dropped to his knee beside his dead CIs, tears in his eyes. The two kids looked like they were eighteen or nineteen, twenty tops. It didn’t take a genius to know where Ray’s mind was headed. Brooks moved closer to the table, opening his mouth to tell his friend that what happened to those kids wasn’t his fault, but Trey’s voice cut him off.
“Brooks,” his packmate whispered from halfway across the room, his voice so low, only another werewolf could hear it. “You and everyone else need to back out of that area. Carefully.”
Brooks glanced at his teammate. Trey was standing with the rest of the guys, their faces intent and filled with concern. Brooks wasn’t sure what Trey was trying to tell him until his packmate looked pointedly down at the floor in front of Brooks, then back at him.
Brooks looked down, cursing silently when he realized he was standing in the middle of a pile of white powder that was scattered all over the floor near the table. He’d been so intent on the dead bodies that he hadn’t even seen the damn stuff. Werewolves could handle getting a few grams of the junk in their bloodstreams without going down, but for a human, a trace amount of powder on their skin could put them into immediate overdose—or worse.
